Merry-Go-Round
by Lady Spezz
Summary: How is he gone? His smiling face, laughing as she entered his office. His lips, warm and wet on her neck and chest and stomach. His anger, directed toward her for the ultimate betrayal she had committed. He had never forgiven her. And now he is dead and she would never be forgiven. AU Post-5x15. Mature Situations.
1. ONE

**ONE**

One shoe on, one shoe off.

Kalinda paces in front of Trauma 1, trying not to think about it. The blood trailed across the floor, the leather oxford upturned on its side, the faint clicking of the gun as Jeffery Grant pleaded with it, hoping to put a bullet in his own head after the ones he had already sent through-

She takes a shaking breath, willing her dark lips closed.

But she can't get rid of it. Will, on his back, his head in the lap of the ASA, eyes half closed and clouded, seeing right through her, through her shaking hands and voice, mouth open as it tried to move wordlessly. Blood pumped around the fingers holding the wound on his throat closed.

Diane is staring at her cellphone a few feet behind her, leaning against the corner of the wall, but looking desperately about to slide down it at any moment. Kalinda glances back in through the Trauma 1 window, trying to catch a glimpse of who is on the operating table. There are too many people. Too many doctors and nurses crowded in the small room, barely visible through the plastic blinds.

She looks back at where the ASA was sitting, his head lolling to the side in shock, barely bandaged and still smeared with blood. She had taken his word for it...

_They took him in there a few minutes ago._

But doubt bothers the back of her neck, where cold sweat is gathering against her jacket collar.

Diane is shaking her head at her phone, tears in her eyes as she glances down in confusion, denial. "But I… I just saw him a few hours ago," she protests to no one in particular, but maybe to herself, her gaze still on the device in her hand, as if it would give her an answer. As if he would call her and it would all be some mistake.

Kalinda feels the need to reply, to assure this broken woman that her fears are misplaced. "He was happy," she says softly, giving Diane a small smile. She moves her hands, gesturing, as if that would make her more relatable, more humane. "The case was working." Diane walks over to the window she's circling, peering in for a second before looking back down the hall. Kalinda follows her gaze, chewing on her lower lip as she sees the line of curtained cells.

A man with a badge walks out of one, and dread clenches around her chest. He's speaking on a phone, distracted, as he passes her. His movement causes the curtain to billow open and she sees the toe of a leather shoe hanging off the gurney.

It could be him.

It probably is him.

She feels momentarily frozen in place, part of her morbidly curious, another part of her terribly afraid. She takes a step forward, slowly, like a hand is holding the back of her jacket to keep her from falling over. She wishes she could fall over and the ground could swallow her up.

Oh, fuck, it's him, isn't it.

She can't see the other foot, covered in a white sheet, but she knows. Diane has started to follow her, watching her as she pushes the curtain aside to step into the artificial room. Her hands grip her own phone as she stares at the covered body, unable to close her jaw, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth.

Diane must recognize the shoe, because she hears her gasp from a few feet behind the curtain. Kalinda doesn't need to reach up to pull the sheet down, her ears pounding with her own pulse, knowing that Will is the one lying in front of her. But she has to.

"No…" Diane says, her voice caught in a sob.

Kalinda reaches forward, the smell of metallic blood and bodily fluids hitting her strong. She rips back the sheet anyway. Blood has pooled onto the gurney and her chest lurches with her stomach threatening to upheave. She breathes out a shaky breath as Diane sobs behind her.

"Oh, God," the older woman says, unable to contain the emotion. The man in front of her is definitely dead, but it isn't him. It's not Will. It doesn't even look like him. "Then where?" Diane asks, trailing off as her voice cracks.

A sudden rush of personnel behind the blue curtain answers her question. Diane spins on her heel as Kalinda follows her back into the corridor. They're wheeling some sort of medical machine directly into Trauma 1.

"Patient coding!" someone yells from inside the room as the door swings open momentarily. In the flurry of movement, Kalinda sees his face. Stone white and still. Thin lips open around a clear tube. There is a haunting sound of a long beep. Her sightline of Will is cut off as a doctor moves infront of the table. A nurse sees her peeping through the window and immediately reaches back, snapping the shades shut, blocking them out. Kalinda swallows the lump in her throat.

"Is this really happening?" Diane asks beside her, voice distraught. "I thought…" She glances back at the curtain, where the gurney with the covered body is being removed by two men in hospital scrubs.

The Trauma 1 door swings open again as a doctor leaves, pulling his surgical mask off. But Kalinda doesn't pay attention to him, her ears distracted by the monotonous tone still coming from a machine by Will's head. A nurse is writing something on a clipboard.

Beside her, Diane reaches a hand to her mouth to muffle any sound. Kalinda reaches for the wall, supporting herself so that when her buckling knees give out, she won't fall to her face. More people exit the room until finally Kalinda sees only two nurses left. And then she knows that he's dead. Her mind pushes images of him at her. Smiling, laughing, frowning, yelling. She can't. She just can't. Her chest hurts and her fingers grip tightly on the window ledge.

Diane is immediately next to her, her eyes still glassy, and her lips tight. "Can you call her?" she asks, voice shaking.

Kalinda peers up, seeing her own reflection in Diane's grim expression. Her carefully coifed hair is still perfect, but mascara has smudged on her lower lids. Diane's hand comes to her shoulder. It is a task, one of the many handed to her by the managing partners. And suddenly, her mind is clearer.

Her fingers hit buttons by reflex, and she holds the phone to her ear. It rings. Four times. Five times. Someone with their face swollen in an allergic reaction rushes by with a small child.

"Hello, you've reached Alicia Florrick. Please leave a message and I will return your call."

She hangs up, chewing on her lip as she searches for another number. She had a feeling he would be close. It rings five times before going to voicemail. She swears inwardly, stubbornly hitting his contact slot again. This time he picks up on the second ring. "Kalinda?" Eli says briskly, clearly annoyed at her call. Kalinda raises her gaze to Diane's, nodding to indicate that she's reached him. Diane squeezes her shoulder and turns to leave, her heels clicking solemnly on the hospital linoleum.

"Uh, Eli…" She suddenly is dreading this, unsure of what to say. She feels her nose tingle as her eyes water again. "I… I need to talk to… Alicia." Her words feel like sludge on her tongue, struggling to say them.

Eli scoffs back at her, impatient and abrupt. "She's on the dais, she can't come now!" he says quickly, trying to shorten the call. "What's wrong?"

"I… I need to talk to her, Eli."

He pauses, then, "Kalinda! She's in the middle of the correspondents' luncheon-"

Kalinda stares at the end of the hallway, where two more ER doctors are walking. She barely notices them, her gaze unfocused. "Eli. Will's dead." Her voice sounds strange to her own ears. There's a long pause on the line, and Eli doesn't speak, so she continues. She just has to get it out. "There was a shooting in the courthouse… and he got caught up in the crossfire. I need to speak to Alicia."

"Yes," Eli whispers, uncharacteristically subdued. "Just a second."

Kalinda waits for him to transfer the phone, using the insides of her fingers to rid any excess water from her eyes. Liquid and black eyeliner comes off on her skin and she hurriedly wipes it off on her skirt. After what feels like 10 minutes, but is probably only 10 seconds, Alicia's soft voice comes on the line.

"Hello?"

Kalinda feels a new wave of tears threaten her eyes and she exhales shakily, trying to slow her racing pulse. She just has to speak. Just say something. Get her mouth and her vocal chords to work simultaneously. It shouldn't be this difficult. Not this… "Alicia. It's me."

"Yes. Kalinda. What's wrong?"

Her bottom lip quivers again and she can't even care. Her vision blurs as she watches two nurses converse at the station. She gives a short exhale. "Will's been shot." There. Three words out. But not the most important.

"What?" Alicia sounds confused, as if unsure as to which direction this was headed. "What-what do you mean?"

Kalinda blinks hard. "It was uh, gunfire… at the courthouse. And… he was shot."

"Will…" Alicia still doesn't seem sure. "I-I don't understand. By who?"

Anger and frustration pounds through Kalinda's teeth at the question. "His client… I'm in the hospital." She pauses, and Alicia must know what's coming next. She has to know. Kalinda glances back in the direction of Trauma 1, where Will's unmoving body rests. She can't control the shaking of her lips and hand as she clutches the phone tighter. "Will is dead," she finally whispers. There is a long pause. "I'm sorry… he was killed."

She can hear voices in the background. Laughter. Alicia's shuddered breath through the phone. "I… I… but I just saw him yesterday," Alicia whispers.

Kalinda glances over her shoulder, where Diane is talking with a police officer. Static crackles through his radio. "Alicia, I… I'll call you back. I need to speak to the police, and I will call you back… I'm sorry." There is no response, and Kalinda lowers the phone.

Just as she presses the call to end, Trauma 1 opens again and the woman she assumed was a nurse steps out. Her eyes catch the little gold embroidery on her blue scrubs. Dr. Vickerson. But it is what she hears from inside the room that sends both dread and joy to her chest, her stomach flip flopping against her ribs. It is a steady beep from the heart monitor.

Kalinda doesn't stop, but takes steps forward, practically pushing the doctor out of her way as she heads for the threshold. "Miss!" the doctor protests behind her. "Miss, you can't go in there!" She feels fingers close on her elbow, but she swings her arm back, her hand making contact with soft flesh. The doctor cries out in pain. Kalinda throws open the door to Trauma 1, and the nurse looks up from Will's vitals with alarm.

"You aren't allowed in here," she says sharply as Kalinda walks to Will's side. She stares down at his exposed chest, heavy stitches visible along his ribcage, stomach, and collarbone. There's a light bandage on the side of his throat. "Excuse me, you have to leave!" The nurse adds in frustration, grabbing Kalinda by the arms and trying to drag her back. There is blood staining the sheets and blue surgical cloth. The sink by the wall is still wet from the soap and water the doctors used to clean their arms and hands.

"But he was dead!" Kalinda whispers harshly, red eyes turning to the nurse. "I saw him… he was dead!" Her voice cracks with emotion and the nurse stares back at her. There is a moment's pause.

"For 12 minutes, 36 seconds, yes," the nurse replies finally, her voice soft. "Dr. Green declared him dead, he had no heartbeat, no blood pressure, but… we tried again."

"You did?" Kalinda asks, her voice harsh, her dark eyes staring down the young blonde nurse. Her blue eyes blink rapidly.

"Yes," the nurse replies. "I assisted Dr. Vickerson. Now, please, you need to leave. We need to stabilize him."

Kalinda allows the nurse to shove her back out in the hall, and she stumbles briefly in her tall boots. He is alive. How is this even possible. A rush of people head back into the room to replace her absence. Her head spins as she tries to come to terms with the change in events. And as she looks down the hall, she sees the flash of blonde hair and pristine violet dress coming toward her.

"Diane!" she yells. "Diane!"


	2. TWO

**TWO**

Alicia stares at the road in front of her, barely seeing it. She feels numb, her fingers cold on the steering wheel, her grey dress and high collar suffocating to her skin. She doesn't care.

Will.

How is he gone? His smiling face, laughing as she entered his office. His lips, warm and wet on her neck and chest and stomach. His anger, directed toward her for the ultimate betrayal she had committed. He had never forgiven her. And now he is dead and she would never be forgiven.

She would never be forgiven.

Something out of reflex makes her stop at the red light. She glances up, seeing the geese formation in the blue sky, the birds travelling together, knowing their place and where they belong.

Where is she even going?

Will is dead.

She imagines a jumpsuit clad convict, shooting him dead in cold blood.

She looks across the intersection, where a young mother is keeping a little boy from crossing too early, her hand across his chest. Protecting him. Her pulse pounds heavily in her ears and she swallows the spit in the back of her throat, trying to keep her lunch down. She should've tried to protect him, keep him close to her instead of pushing him away with an act that he would never forgive. Could never forgive.

Will is dead.

The mother takes her son's hand and leads him across the street. Life is so precarious. Alicia could step on the gas and kill them both in barely a second. How had she not seen it before? They did not have forever. And yet she had thought that she would. At the back of her mind, she always thought that sooner or later, it would all work out. It would be a comical chapter in the story of their life. After all, don't romances always end well? They would be together, in the end, even if they had to jump every hurdle to get there.

The finality of her mistake bears down on her and she feels the threatening tears suddenly pull at the back of her throat. She can't keep down the sob and so she doesn't even try. She watches the mother and son walk down the street as she clasps a palm to her mouth, sobbing loudly against her fingers, the pain in her chest so huge she wishes it would just open up and envelope the car.

A horn blasts behind her and she pulls off to the side to let them pass. Her forehead falls forward against the steering wheel as she sobs, her chest and shoulders moving with the violent effort. She had been so consumed with distancing herself from the one man that made her want to throw away everything that she had forgotten that she was alive. And that both of them would eventually die. Except eventually is now currently.

Because Will is dead.

She sits for several minutes in a stupor, staring at nothing in particular as the car engine idles. Her phone vibrates softly from her purse and she reaches for it, noting the 3 missed messages waiting for her. But Kalinda is calling again. She barely has the strength to answer it.

"Hi," she whispers.

"Alicia." Her voice sounds stronger than it did a half hour ago. "Come down to Chicago General."

"Kalinda, I can't," she whispers, unable to speak louder. Concerned that if she speaks above a gasp, her mistake will be suddenly too unbearable to stand. "I can't go down there."

"He's alive," she says.

Alicia laughs harshly then, convinced she's either hallucinating or taken the bend to crazy. "Kalinda, I have to-"

"He's _alive_, Alicia!" Kalinda repeats, unable to keep the joy from her voice.

"But…" Alicia shakes her head, her heart and stomach churning away inside her body. "Will? But you… you said-"

"That doesn't matter!" Kalinda interrupts. "Just get down here." And the line goes silent.

Alicia stares out her windshield. She doesn't dare believe it. Kalinda had already declared him dead. And now suddenly he is alive? Heart beating, blood pumping, hands and mouth moving. Hope pounds in her throat as she pulls a u-turn, earning a horn blast from the car behind her. She realizes she had been headed for Lockhart Gardner, maybe to see Diane, maybe to search for some piece of Will's lingering presence. But now he's… not dead.

She's still aware that tears are streaming down her face and she wipes them away with the back of her hand. She doesn't dare think, trying to keep her mind cautiously empty as she drives back uptown. It doesn't work very well.

Will with his body splayed across the courtroom floor, blood seeping from a gunshot to the leg. Or maybe arm. Blood spilling from his throat.

Will suddenly sitting upright on the operating table. Doctors staring at him.

Will with his hands stroking her sides, his legs tangled with hers.

She's vaguely aware of the state of her face as her heels click on the floor. The ER is quiet in the late afternoon, and she searches frantically for Kalinda, peering in every open window in hopes of seeing a familiar face. But there are none.

Had she imagined the phone call?

"Alicia!" But it isn't Kalinda that calls her name, but Diane. She turns to see the older woman walking towards her, remnants of tears shed on her own face. All of their differences and arguments over the past year suddenly seem ridiculous. Silly, even. Diane holds out her hands and Alicia accepts the embrace, finding solidity in her stoicism, familiarity in the smell of Chanel No. 5.

"Where is he?" Alicia manages to whisper into Diane's jacket, trying not to soil the expensive material. Diane pulls back to examine her face, hands still clasped on her upper arms. She's grateful for it, afraid that she'll slide to the floor if Diane lets her go.

"They just moved him to the ICU. Come on." She places a hand on her shoulder, guiding her down the hall like a teacher guiding a lost student. Alicia steadies her breathing as they ride the elevator, her eyes heavy and tired from crying. She leans her cheek against Diane's shoulder, letting the quiet moment seep through them as Diane strokes her hair.

When the elevator doors open, Kalinda is standing on the other side. "This way," she says abruptly before either of them can speak. Alicia follows her down the hall, noting the way her blue jacket looks oddly green in the fluorescent light. Their footsteps sound hollow, almost like a march. They stop outside a plain grey door, closed, with 714W lettering on the front. It's across from the nurses' station, but none of them are paying attention to their presence. The file holder nailed to the door is full with a yellow binder. Paint chips at its corners.

"We're only allowed one person at a time," Kalinda says as she steps to the side. "He's still critical-"

"But stable," Diane adds, squeezing her shoulder, encouraging her forward. "They're keeping him unconscious. Talk to him."

"O-okay," Alicia says, her voice unsteady. Her feet move on their own accord as she pushes the heavy door open and steps into the small hospital room. It seems dark at first, in comparison to the harsh lights in the hallway. Her eyes adjust as she sees the bed, raised slightly to keep Will's body at an angle. She still expects him to be dead. 90 minutes thinking of him as gone has not been erased from her mind.

There are cords and plastic electrodes visible beneath the crinkled gown they've used to cover him, and the machines beside the bed beep softly, showing vital signs. He has breathing tubes inserted into his nose, but not his mouth, his lips loosely closed. She can smell the sterile solution they've used to clean his wounds with and there's a bandage on his throat, lightly blood stained. Alicia reaches shakily out, touching the skin on his cheek. He's oddly warm, where she thought he'd be cold. It's reassuring, to see the pulse in his body. She lightly tugs on the collar of his gown, wincing as she sees the ripped flesh through his shoulder, seeing the dark stitches closing a small hole.

"Will," she breathes, half a question, but mostly to assert her presence to an unconscious person. "I… I'm sorry," she finishes lamely, sinking into the chair next to the bed. She watches him for a long time, not moving despite a nurse entering every 15 minutes to double-check his vitals. They don't speak to her and she doesn't speak to them. She doesn't even remove her coat, instead curling up in the chair and watching his unmoving face.

It's close to 9 p.m. when she looks at her phone again. Three more missed calls. She looks through her messages, deleting the old ones from Kalinda and Diane, but pausing at the one from Will. 11:32 a.m., barely 15 minutes before the shooting. She purses her lips, staring at the screen for a second before hitting the play button. She watches his face as she listens to his message.

"Alicia… just a minute, Your Honour... I'll call you back." It is painfully unsatisfying. She listens to it five more times, each time leaning closer to Will's face, hoping for his lack of expression to suddenly reveal any clue as to his reason to call. But none come.

Two of the last three messages are from Peter. She doesn't even listen to them, deleting them right away. The last is from Grace. Her voice sounds unsteady, scared.

"Mom… where-where are you? You missed dinner. Call us please."

Guilt flickers in her jaw. They had probably heard through their friends, or the internet, about what happened at the courthouse. She would call her daughter back, but first she would make a different one. She scrolls through her contacts, searching for one she hasn't used in months. She presses it without hesitation, bringing the phone steadily up to her ear. He picks up after two rings.

"Alicia."

"David."


	3. THREE

**THREE**

Almost everything in her life is less important now. It's her third day of sitting by Will's bedside, staring at him. Nurses come and go, she even knows a few by name now, but mostly she stays silent, ignoring her cellphone when Peter calls to argue about the divorce, or Eli to shriek about her handling of the situation. Both of them are furious with her. She just doesn't care. David had offered to contact Eli to warn him while they had divorce papers drawn up properly, but she insisted that she wanted it done and over with, so Peter had been served yesterday by one of Lockhart Gardner's couriers. She likes to imagine the look on his face. Maybe Eli would describe it to her once he'd forgiven her for the political shitstorm her actions caused.

One of the newer nurses, still a student at Illinois State, comes in to do the usual check marks on the clipboard with Will's chart. The tag on her flower-print scrub says Danielle. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Florrick," she smiles softly as she takes down numbers, her voice lightly accented in a Chicago drawl.

"Hi, Danielle. Shift change?" Alicia asks tiredly, watching as Danielle peels back Will's gown to check his stitches.

"Yep. Do you want some dinner? It's just coming down now." She smiles over her rectangular glasses at Alicia, clearly feeling sorry for her.

"No. I'm fine, but thanks."

Danielle looks back at Will's chart, before over at Alicia. "You know, Mrs. Florrick, Will's status won't change until we bring him out tomorrow. You should go home and get some rest." She smiles at her, but Alicia can only stare back, barely hearing her. She knows the young girl means well. But leaving would mean this could become a dream. Maybe she's dreaming? She would wake up and still be in her car, pulled over on the side of the intersection where she had noticed the mother and son together.

"I'm fine," she repeats, the words old on her tongue. It seems everyone is overly concerned for her. Danielle makes another mark on her board before turning to leave. Alicia watches her retreating back. "Wait," she says hoarsely, her tongue thick. "How… how long was he dead?"

Danielle turns eyes back to her, regarding her carefully. "Mr. Gardner?" She flips back a few pages on the clipboard. "12 minutes, 36 seconds."

Alicia inhales shakily, her knuckles turning white as she grips the edges of her uncomfortable chair. She had only heard the short version from Kalinda, the scene in Trauma 1 and the revival a few minutes later. "That's a long time," Alicia says softly, her eyes not leaving Danielle's.

"Yes," Danielle replies, shifting her weight from foot to foot. "But it's not uncommon."

"Will there be any long-term effects?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Florrick. It's too soon to tell. Dr. Vickerson will be in again tomorrow, and she can tell you more."

Alicia nods, her head feeling heavy on her thin neck. "Thank you."

Danielle smiles briefly before turning, once again leaving Alicia and Will alone in the semi-permanent darkness of the hospital room. She picks her chair up and scoots closer to the bed, so close that her knees bang against the metal sides when she sits back down. She had been scared to touch him before, concerned that maybe she would do something, that the minute her fingers touched his, he would know the woman that he didn't even like, but yet didn't hate, was sitting at his side. And then maybe he would die still, out of spite. She didn't speak to him either, staying silent for long stretches of time, only answering calls from her children. She hadn't heard from Cary for two days, but she knew he was busy handling her dropped cases. She barely had the strength to sit upright, let alone fight in court.

Kalinda or Diane stopped by twice a day, bringing her coffee or a sandwich, most of which she hadn't the stomach for, so she tossed them into the garbage by the nurses' station. But now, as her body sags forward with exhaustion, she realizes she is suddenly starving. She stares at Will's face, willing it to move even though she knows the drugs in his system are preventing it. She glances down at the IV drip, attached to the underside of his arm, gingerly reaching forward and touching his fingers, circling her palm underneath his to lightly support it.

The room door opens suddenly and Alicia jerks her hand back, caught in the act. Of what, she isn't sure. Her eyes adjust to the light coming in from the hall and she recognizes the slight frame of her daughter. "Grace?" she asks in confusion.

"H-hi, mom, can I come in?" Grace glances over her shoulder, then back into the room.

"Of course. Come here." Alicia holds out a hand and Grace steps in, cautiously making her way over to the second empty chair beside the bed. Grace is clutching a small red tupperware container. "What's this?" Alicia asks, gesturing to the plastic as she leans in and kisses her daughter's temple.

"It's… dinner." Grace looks down, embarrassed. "We thought you might be hungry."

Alicia strokes Grace's hair as she brings her against her chest, tightly wrapping her arm around her shoulders. "Thank you." They sit in silence for a minute. "How did you get down here?"

"Zach drove. He's waiting outside. It was difficult to park." Grace's gaze lingers on Will's body, then flickers to the active monitor along the wall. "Is… he going to be okay?"

"We have to wait and see," Alicia replies after a minute. She looks down at the container, gently tugging it from Grace's iron grasp. "Did you bring a fork?" she asks softly.

Grace glances up in surprise. "Y-yes." She reaches into her pants pocket, removing a silver utensil. Alicia recognizes it as part of the set that Jackie had given her and Peter as a wedding present. Heavy and square, she always thought they were ugly. She opens the container, revealing a macaroni pasta salad.

"Did you make this?" she asks in surprise, glancing over at her daughter.

"Grandma helped," Grace replies sheepishly. Alicia raises her eyebrows.

"Veronica?"

"Well, she gave us the recipe." Grace laughs lightly.

That sounded more like her own mother, to have the kids cook while she sat back and drank wine. She had called in a favour, and so Veronica is staying at the apartment, with Owen as backup just in case Peter or Jackie try to show up. She doesn't want them swaying her children, trying to pit them against her in preparation for a very public divorce.

Grace stares at Will as Alicia eats the dinner she's brought. "You love him?" she asks eventually, softly. She looks up with innocent eyes and Alicia wishes that she didn't have to answer. But she did. It didn't have to be shameful, or embarrassing. It just had to be truthful. It was all she had left.

"Yes." Her voice catches as she tries to swallow back tears.

"Are you divorcing dad?" is her next question. Her carefully straightened hair catches in the static on the back of the chair. Alicia reaches over to smooth it.

"Yes," she repeats.

"Okay," Grace whispers, catching Alicia by surprise. "You're not happy. And we… me and Zach, we just want you to be happy." She looks back to Will, still unmoving in front of them. "Does he make you happy?"

How has her daughter suddenly grown so wise? Alicia and Will had been chasing circles for years, unable to commit, unable to be honest. But this 16-year-old girl cut through everything. Alicia sighs as she tightens her grip on Grace's shoulders. It isn't sudden, is it.

"Yes."

* * *

Alicia is vaguely aware of voices somewhere above her head. Her mouth tastes like sawdust, her lips dry, her neck and back aching like she has been hit over the head. Her fingers close on thin cotton sheets, and she realizes she's using her own arms as a pillow.

"I think that's _her_," a woman's voice is saying, hushed, and excited.

"Who?" another voice asks.

"You know… the sweet voice…"

"But wasn't that the _other_ girl?"

Alicia opens one eye, her hair and arms shielding her view. She sees the early light coming through the hospital window, the grey and blue colour scheme on the walls, the steady beeping from Will's monitor. She realizes one of her hands, the one not clutching the sheets, is clutching something else. Warm skin. Will's hand, still connected to his IV.

Will is not dead.

She sits up abruptly, the thin blanket that was covering her shoulders sliding down her back. A nurse must've covered her with it sometime during the night. She is still sitting in her chair, but had fallen asleep with her face on the edge of Will's hospital bed, slumped forward in exhaustion. The two women stand on the other side of the bed, giving her simultaneously critical and amused up-downs. She recognizes them from a picture in Will's apartment: his sisters, Aubrey and Sara.

"Oh…" she breathes, blinking bleerily at them. "I-I'm sorry, I'll leave you-"

"Who are you?" the younger asks, smiling wide, holding a coffee cup, gesturing to her with it. Alicia stands on shaking feet, suddenly wishing she hadn't exchanged her dress suit for the sweater and jeans Grace had brought the night before. She tugs at the front of her wrinkled clothes with one hand as she runs shaking fingers under her eyes with the other, trying to clean her smeared eyeliner.

She pulls her back straighter, even though she'd rather slump down over the bed. "Alicia Fl-Cavanaugh," she corrects at the last minute. "Will's attorney." It wasn't the truth, not really. What was she supposed to say? Friend? They had spent the majority of the last six months hating each other. Lover? Their affair had ended well over a year ago. Coworker? He had publicly and violently fired her. Maybe she should've said colleague. "Colleague," she blurts out too late. She cringes inwardly.

Both pairs of opposing eyebrows rise, but they don't question her answer. The older sister, Sara, looks down at Will's body. Her eyes are red, like she has been crying, and her arms are clutching onto each other as she tries to keep her chest from caving forward. Alicia takes a step to the side, pointing to her vacated chair. "Here, please, sit. I'll be outside." They watch her as she walks from the room, closing the door and slumping against it in relief. The nurse at the station gives her a knowing smile. She can't return it.

She goes to the public washroom, scrubbing her face with the harsh pump soap, cleaning off the remaining makeup and sleep from her aging skin. It was hard not to notice the lines around her eyes, the texture of her once-smooth lips. She dips her nose beneath her sweater to smell herself. Like hospital, but not overly unpleasant. She really should go home and shower. Maybe that would help her feel better. Will is scheduled to wake later in the morning, after medication was weaned off last night. As silly as it seems, she wants to look presentable when he first sees her.

"You're ridiculous," she says to her tired reflection. He might have no cognitive ability left. Or he might not even want her there. She has no idea what that last voicemail on her phone is about.

Will, telling her he wanted to give her another chance.

Will, pulling her into the courthouse bathroom and pressing her up against the wall.

Will, yelling at her for poaching another one of his clients.

Will, firing her again and upheaving her entire desk against the floor.

She doesn't go home.

* * *

The five of them stare down at his still body. Alicia glances over at Diane in discomfort. They shouldn't all be in here at once, but nobody is volunteering to leave, and she certainly isn't going to be the one. Kalinda sees her glance, and offers a shrug. Aubrey is drinking another cup of coffee, and Sara purses her lips together in concern. Alicia had avoided the hospital room the last few hours, convincing herself it was to give Will's sisters time with him, but mostly she was just cowering. Afraid that Aubrey would know. She couldn't keep it off her face.

They all stare at Will.

"See, his eye moved!" Aubrey says, throwing her free hand up and looking at her sister in triumph. "I told you, he moved!"

But now, Will is supposed to be regaining consciousness, and she wants - _deserves_ - to be present.

Sara rolls her eyes, looking to Diane for confirmation. "Did he move?"

Diane glances at Alicia before over to Sara. "He did… his eye twitched." Her voice is dry, but lightly amused. She has clearly met the Gardner girls before, and reacts like she expects nothing else from them.

Dr. Vickerson enters through the door, her lips turning up in an amused smile as she elbows her way to the side of the bed, trying to find space between the women crowded around. She doesn't comment on their rule breaking, even though Alicia wishes that she would. It feels claustrophobic. She blinks hard to pull herself together, gaze looking across Will's body, to where his swollen skin peaks beneath his gown.

"So, this is safe, correct?" Diane asks the doctor, eyes carefully trained on her.

Vickerson glances over at the sisters, who wait anxiously for her response. "Yes, of course. Mr. Gardner will be groggy for a day, maybe two. If there seems to be no remaining shock or significant brain damage, we'll move him from ICU tomorrow."

Brain damage.

They all stare down at Will. Could he really be different? The thought scares Alicia, almost as much as the thought of him dead. She can tell Diane wants to ask what the chances are, but she doesn't get the opportunity.

Will's eyes move beneath closed lids, and then open.


	4. FOUR

**FOUR**

Alicia isn't prepared for it. Not for this.

Will's other eye follows the first and he blinks hard, unfocused. His lips curve down and all of a sudden he is sobbing. Not crying, not tearing up. Sobbing like he is three years old again. Like he is reliving the worst pain of his entire life and nothing will make it stop. Diane looks around in shock, not even protesting when Dr. Vickerson ushers her back to get a better look at the vitals monitor.

"We should go," Kalinda says, her hands closing on Alicia's elbow. She doesn't protest, having Kalinda lead her from the room, Diane directly behind them.

"What on earth…?" Diane asks as Kalinda presses her hands down on Alicia's shoulder. She feels cold, the voices far away, as if her ears are filled with cotton. Her chest is hurting again, like someone is squeezing her heart.

"Alicia, you need to sit down." Kalinda applies more pressure and Alicia feels her knees bend as she's forced into a chair. "Put your head between your knees." She follows the directions without thinking, staring at the grubby hospital flooring between her plain black boots. Diane and Kalinda are speaking quietly, but Alicia doesn't pay attention. She tries not to relive it, every horrible moment with Will, including this one. But it's too easy.

Telling him she was pregnant, two weeks from graduation.

Meeting Peter as he showed up on her doorstep to help her pack. He had left instead.

Her RSVP to their wedding gone unanswered.

That one short phonecall just before Zach was born. Congratulations. And then nothing.

His lips on hers, his tongue back in her mouth. But she was married and it was an error in judgement.

Rage flipping like a switch.

And now broken, maybe even unfixable. Unforgivable.

She hangs over her knees for a long time, trying to breathe, ignoring the blood rushing to her head as Kalinda paces and Diane speaks into her phone, clearly frustrated at being forced from the room. Lunch is rolled down the corridors, and then the leftovers are rolled back up. Alicia slumps against the wall, the cold sweat on her face drying slowly.

Most of the day passes, but finally, finally Sara opens the door. Diane and Kalinda look up expectantly, but Alicia keeps her unfocused gaze on the opposite wall. "What's going on?" Diane asks immediately, turning to the older Gardner child. "Is he alright?"

"He's... out of it. Alicia?" Sara looks down at her. "Can you come in?"

She looks up in surprise, blinking stupidly at Will's sister. She looks so different than Will, her colouring darker, less Irish. "Uh, yes. Of course." She tightly grips her chair handle, pushing herself into a standing position. Her legs feel like lead. As she moves into the hospital room, she sees Aubrey sitting in what was previously her chair, her torso leaning forward as she strokes Will's damp hair. His eyes are half open, not quite asleep, but not awake either.

"Has he said anything?" Alicia asks softly.

Aubrey looks up at her. "Just your name, actually."

Warmth floods her stomach as she meets Sara's gaze. "He… did?"

"Yes."

Alicia cautiously sits next to Aubrey. Will's brown gaze flickers to her, cloudy, and she can't tell if he can actually see her. Knows who she is. "What did the doctor say?" she asks softly, reaching forward and touching Will's closest hand. His fingers don't move against hers, but she tightens her grip anyway, hoping for a sign of recognition.

"He was shot three times," Sara replies, telling her something she already knows. "Two surface wounds to the shoulder and stomach, and then the one to his side went through. He has two broken ribs… minimal blood vessel damage, but significant muscle tears. A lot of nerve damage." She sniffs, raising a hand to wipe the end of her nose. "They'll do more tests tomorrow."

"What about his neck?" Alicia asks, looking at the bandage.

"From a piece of wood ricochet," Aubrey interrupts impatiently. "Are you his girlfriend?"

Alicia freezes at the change of topic. "No." She subconsciously circles the wedding rings still on her left finger, having forgotten to remove them. She does so now, slipping the gold and diamonds into her jeans pocket. She should probably be honest now, as uncomfortable as she feels under Aubrey's intense examination. "I love him," she adds lamely. "We love each other."

"Thank _God_!" Aubrey says, throwing her hands up to the sky, smiling wide. "It's about fucking time he was with someone…" She gives Alicia another up-down, "... normal."

Alicia snorts at the naivety of that assessment, but doesn't correct her. Will's eyes have drooped closed, his mouth still open, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Sara places a hand on the back of her chair. "The nurse said you haven't left. You should go home and sleep, you look exhausted-"

She knows that this is Sara's gentle way of kicking her out of the hospital. It stings anyway. Where were they for the last three days? When Will was dead and her entire world was crashing and burning, where were they? Anger thumps noisily in her ears. "S-sure," she replies after a second, standing. They were entitled to their own reasons, their own lives. She exhales shakily and manages a small smile to both sisters in turn. "That sounds good. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes," Sara says. Aubrey looks a little more apologetic in her returning smile.

"See you."

"Bye."

She sleeps heavily, in all her clothes and with the window open, despite the cold February breeze blowing through her bedroom. Owen and the kids had glanced up when she walked in last night, and she had kissed all three before silently retreating to her room and falling into bed.

Alicia stares out the window, sunlight and her alarm clock telling her it's almost noon. The apartment seems empty and silent. She reaches out and touches her bedside lamp, noting the chip taken out of the bottom where it had been knocked to the floor. Will had knocked it over as he had reached for a surface to grip, almost two years ago when they fell into a routine that involved him sleeping at the apartment when Zach and Grace went to Peter's.

It's comforting, seeing parts of his existence in her life, even if it was long ago and another lifetime away. She had even kept the specific satin sheets they'd soiled, dressing the bed in them for the last year. It was thrilling to use Peter. He had caused her so much grief and humiliation. She knew it was vindictive, but when he took her on the very sheets Will had slept in, had fucked her within an inch of her sanity on, it felt like revenge. It was an outlet for the mounting sexual tension in her life, the tension between her and Will that had never been resolved. Sexual or otherwise.

She showers and dresses, slipping into lace lingerie that she hasn't worn in a very long time. An expensive black bustier that she had bought for Will's approval. He had approved all over his office bathroom. She smiles at her reflection in the mirror, the memory good, her chest a little less tight than yesterday.

Eli is waiting for her in the hallway. She rolls her eyes, hurriedly pressing the down button on the elevator. "Alicia!" he snaps, following her, circling her like an annoying pet. "This is crazy! Are you trying to send me to an early grave?" He points to himself. "Look at my head!" He dips his forehead down to point to his temple. "I'm going grey!"

Alicia laughs, the elevator doors shutting. "Eli, you've been going grey since before this week."

He exhales in frustration, glancing over at her as the elevator moves. "Just… give a little warning next time, okay? The press is about to get their hands on this and your private life is about to become _very _public… again." He gives her a meaningful furrow of his eyebrows.

"So, business as usual," Alicia says tiredly. "Do whatever you have to do, Eli. I'll be at the hospital." The elevator doors open and she steps out. His fingers grab at her jacket.

"Alicia!"

She turns to look at him, his dark eyes flickering in embarrassment over her face. "I'm sorry."

She blinks in feigned curiosity. "For?"

He sighs. "Everything."

She gives him a tight smile. "Thanks."

* * *

When she steps onto 7 West, she can smell the faintly nauseating scent of the lunch cart. Two of the veteran nurses are talking by the station, but neither pay her attention as she slips into 714. The plastic blinds have been opened, but the room is mostly empty. Alicia wonders where his sisters are, but there's a blue coat draped over one chair, so she knows they're not far.

Will is still lying on his back in the same angle, but the tube has been removed from his nose. Alicia lets out a heavy breath as she sits down, watching his face. His eyes open as she sets her purse down on the floor with a light thud. She isn't sure if he recognizes her at first, or if he's lucid at all.

"H-hi," she says softly. She reaches out for his hand, but thinks better of it, instead putting her palm on the bed's metal railing.

"A… licia." His voice is rough, unsteady as he tries to work his tongue around his teeth.

She immediately tears up, her lips shaking as she tries not to cry. "Will," she manages to say. "Thank God… oh, thank God." Her voice sounds so whiney. Too emotional. She needs to keep it under control.

"You…" he frowns, his eyes going glossy for a minute before resharpening. "Why are… you here?"

"What?" She can't keep the hurt from being reflected in her face. Here comes the rejection. It seems that he wouldn't forgive her after all. He would let her live the rest of her life in misery and she would deserve every second of it.

"In court?" he winces, struggling with the words. "McGrath vs… MacLeod."

Alicia can't help but smile. "Ah, yes. The Irish vs the Scots. Cary's handling it."

"For baseball," Will murmurs, his eyes drifting shut for a moment before reopening.

Alicia looks around in confusion, maybe to see what he's referring to. "What?" she asks again.

"Hm?" His voice sounds dreamy. "I...'m a little stoned," he finishes, his lips turning up in a silent chuckle. Alicia swallows, reaching out and slipping her fingers lightly under his. His eyebrows shift as he looks over at her. His fingers move slightly against hers, but a vein in his forehead jumps as he struggles.

"Does it hurt?" she asks softly.

"Don't leave," is his dopey reply, his eyes struggling to remain open.

"No, I won't," Alicia whispers, fighting tears again. She leans in and kisses his forehead. There's a small cut by his eyebrow.

"Love you," he mumbles as he drops off to sleep.

She smiles through tears, smoothing the hair that is matted to his skin. The words fall from her lips in a relief, finally letting them form on her tongue. "Love you too."


	5. FIVE

**FIVE**

Alicia sinks into her office chair, surveying the rest of the floor. Her associates glance at her, assistants gossip among themselves, and Cary is making his way toward her. "Alicia!" he says in surprise. "What-what are you doing here? I told you to take all the time you need…"

She gives her partner a small smile, one that probably looks more like a grimace. "I'm fine."

Cary sits on the edge of her desk, blonde hair carefully combed up and to the side, hazel eyes cautious. There's a wrinkle in his striped tie, probably from the habit of pulling at it under stress. "Are you-" He seems to think better about this line of questioning, so abruptly changes mid-sentence, "How's Will? How's he doing?" He tries his best to look concerned.

She knows that Cary and Will have never gotten along, never agreed on much of anything, including the law. But Cary is also one of the only people, and basically her only friend, that knows the extent of their relationship, their affair, her betrayal. All of their associates knew the rumours, participated in the gossip every time she stepped foot into Will's office, heard the whispers that she made partner at Lockhart Gardner only because she was sleeping with the boss. She still isn't sure if that was entirely false.

"He's doing better," she replies after a beat. "Still pretty heavily medicated." She gives a dry smile. "But not too bad for a dead man."

Cary laughs, revealing teeth as his eyes crinkle shut. "That's good, I'm glad to hear that. Give him my best. We can send him a…" he waves his hand in the air, "... fruit basket or… Maker's Mark? He'd probably prefer that."

Alicia crosses one leg over the other, smiling at Cary's attempt to light the mood. "Well, unfortunately, he can't drink it until he's off the meds."

"Flower arrangement?" Cary adds hopefully. "C'mon, Alicia... I bet Diane's smuggled in the whiskey for him-"

Alicia wouldn't doubt it, could see the two of them toasting bourbon in the hospital room, the heart monitor beeping away in the background. She laughs, shooing Cary off the side of her desk with her hands. He hops away from the push. "The hospital room's getting pretty crowded. His sisters…" she fades away, giving a shrug. "Maybe I'll just try and work for a bit. Okay?" She looks up at the younger man, searching for his approval, even though she doesn't need it.

"Sure. The Chumhum briefing's up on the server if you want," Cary offers.

She nods. "Thanks."

He gives her shoulder a squeeze as he leaves and she glances across the office where Robyn is trying not to make it too obvious she's staring. Alicia reaches out and opens her laptop, watching the welcome screen load. Her cursor blinks at her, waiting for the password, but she can't bring her arms up to type it into the little white space. Her hands feel like rocks as they rest on her knees.

Her laptop goes back to sleep and she wishes she could join it.

She had walked into Will's hospital room just an hour ago to a fussing nurse and two Gardner sisters helping him sit up in the bed. She had faltered under their gazes, but held out the coffee tray she brought, not knowing how they took it, but taking her best guess. They were too distracted by Will, still groggy and barely awake, to pay her much attention, although Aubrey kept shooting her expectant glances. And then when Diane appeared, Alicia figured that the best strategy was just to come back later when there was less chaos. Less people trying to figure out her motives. Surely his sisters had chumhummed her by now.

She sighs, looking back to her blank computer screen. Movement by the elevator, a flash of black suit and greying hair, catches her attention and she turns in her chair to get a better look. Peter walks toward her, hands in pockets, a frown creasing his heavy eyebrows. Her head pounds and she raises a hand to rub her temple, wishing she had something to drink. Every eye on the office is on him as he comes to a stop in front of her desk. She sees Cary glance up from his discussion with Clark.

Peter looks down at her, sighing in resignation. "You okay?" he asks shortly.

Alicia examines her hands, not wanting to meet his gaze. She can't remember the last time she loved Peter and actually meant it. Most of the last five years were spent trying to convince herself to make it work, forget the scandal and the video of him fucking that hooker. Try and love him, maybe forgive him, but just try and love him. At least try and stand him. Some days were easier than others, but it never happened and both of them knew it. It was a political ploy, and she just didn't have the energy to continue it anymore.

"I really wish everyone would stop asking me that. I'm _fine_," she answers softly, her voice irritated. She pushes her hair over her shoulders with the back of her fingers.

Peter gives a shrug and shake of his head, looking across her neat desk, at her sleeping computer. "You missed the Founder's Dinner… I just… was worried about you."

She remembers her commitment to that dinner, having forgotten about it the second Kalinda had called her at the luncheon almost a week ago. Instead of going to the dinner, she had fallen asleep again at the hospital, her hand next to Will's, her coat balled up against her shoulder as a makeshift pillow. She stayed until Sara had come in to check on him before midnight and then she had quietly excused herself, planning to go home and sleep, but pacing the kitchen instead. Will's face had been so white when she left.

"Sorry," she says flatly, remembering the laboured sounds of his breath as his body fought through the fluid in his lungs.

Peter continues, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his hand. "I don't often ask you to come to these political events, but I-"

She still stares at her laptop, trying to keep the rage from her mouth. He is selfish, more so than her. Her friend, her former partner, her colleague is coming back from the brink of death, and her unfaithful, pandering, scum of a husband is in her office badgering her about a political dinner. Soon to be ex-husband.

"I won't be going to the next one," she continues, her voice hard as she keeps her lips open to normalize her breathing, the anger still pounding behind her eyelids.

Peter stares at her. "Alicia-" He steps forward, giving her his best reprimanding gesture. "The way you're handling this Will thing-"

She can't look at him. "I'm doing my best," she interrupts, her voice void of the emotion raging inside her chest, her words slow.

Peter lifts an eyebrow. "Oh, well, if this is your best then I think we need to talk-"

She stands, pushing herself out of her seat with her hands on the desk in front of her, her knuckles clutching onto the wood so tight they've become white. She glares at him in disbelief. Didn't he understand? This wasn't a game. If he hadn't taken her divorce papers seriously, then she would make him. She wants to slap that chastising expression off his face. He seems to sense her anger, so he tries to backpedal.

"Look, you lost a friend," he says, keeping his voice soft. "You didn't lose your child, you didn't lose your _husband_." He puts his hand over his heart as he gestures to himself. How could he even…

"I lost my husband a _long time ago_," Alicia replies, her voice pure ice.

Peter stares at her. "Oh my…" He shakes his head in disbelief. He holds up a finger, a habit he uses on the defence, and she knows he's about to lecture her. "You _can not_ go back there."

She stands back on her heels, suddenly feeling sorry for him, tilting her head as if she were speaking to a child and not a 45-year-old man. "I don't have to," she replies, the images of him with the prostitute still fresh in her mind, even after all this time. The press, the secretaries, her former friends, her children, Kalinda… Will. The consequence of every action she's made since she first saw that flash of CNBC at the dry cleaners. She feels all her anger start bubbling up behind her face, her nose tingling, eyes starting to fill with hot tears. "I'm still living it… _every_ day."

Peter drops his hands on the other side of her desk, scoffing and twisting in frustration. "Oh my _God_," he growls. "How … many times… do I _have_ to tell you!" He slams his palms on her desk again, looking at her intently. "When I cheated it didn't mean _anything_!" As his voice raises, so do the looks of her associates, having gone back to their business, now glancing up again. Cary is frowning at them, holding a hand out to Clark to pause him, stepping toward her desk.

Alicia can barely see them, her hard gaze intent on her husband, the bitterness thick in her mouth. She steps around her desk to square Peter off, eyes not leaving his. "Well then, that was a _waste_," she spits, her voice loud. "Because when I cheated, it _did_."

He stares at her, not wanting to believe her, not wanting to reconfirm his long-held suspicions that Will Gardner was sleeping with his wife. "Well, I can't compete with a dead man," he says, lowering his voice again.

"He's not dead," Alicia snaps, interrupting him.

Peter continues as if he never heard her. "But if you think your life will be better with Will, you are _kidding_ yourself-"

"Stop it, Peter!" she interrupts, her voice rising, holding up a finger to silence him as she takes a step back. She can feel tears threatening again. She will not cry. Not over this. Not to this man.

"No!" Peter replies, voice now at a yell. He points his own finger back at her as he leans across the desk. She turns, running her palm over her forehead, trying to bottle back her own emotions as she circles again. "I'm not going to let you throw away this marriage because you have some idealized notion of a man who you're not even sure _cares about you_!"

The office is quiet. Alicia doesn't even care, gawking at the man she used to love, maybe once upon a time. "You're a _bastard_!" she says in disbelief.

Peter leans further over the desk. "And you're a _selfish bitch_!" he yells, his voice lightly echoing in the brick building. "But you know _what_? We're all that we have."

There is a resounding silence as Alicia searches for something to lean against, finally finding the wall, supporting her weight on it. Cary has stepped away from Clark, walking toward them with anger in his movements. "You need to leave," he says, grabbing the back of Peter's jacket. "Right now, before I call the police."

Peter ignores him, still watching Alicia as she leans against the wall. Cary glances at her as she moves forward. "No," she says softly, looking at Peter, her voice so quiet she's not even sure he can hear her. "Not anymore. We're not going to see each other anymore, not unless we have to. You are free… to see and sleep with whomever you like. But I don't wanna know. And under no circumstances are our _children_ to know. Understood?"

Peter leans in, struggling against Cary's grip on his shoulder. "So this is because _you_ wanna sleep with someone else."

"Get out of my office, Peter," she replies, swallowing back her saliva.

"But-"

"Get the _hell_ out of my office!"

Cary takes the moment to push Peter away and he stumbles slightly before allowing him to do so. She falls back into her office chair as she watches them leave and the office resumes a forced murmur of fake phone calls and forced conversation.

They really should build some walls.

* * *

When Alicia walks into 714 later that evening, everything is gone. The bed is stripped, the chairs are empty, the garbage is piled in hazard bins in the center of the floor. She looks frantically around for a message, a sign as to where he's been moved, but there's nothing left.

She snaps open her purse, rummaging for her phone and opening her contacts. She has one waiting text, and glances at the message from Kalinda.

_902._

She doesn't bother answering, nor question how Kalinda knows. She turns on her heel, heading for the stairs instead of the elevator, not wanting to wait for it to open, not wanting to deal with whatever grief might be inside. The ninth floor is busy, two kids running in circles at one end of the hall, a distraught looking father trying to contain them, an elderly woman in a wheelchair being driven by a teenage girl.

The door to 902 is closed, and Alicia hesitates, listening for voices from inside. It is silent, so she turns the handle gently and peeks her head in. Will is sitting up in bed, arms by his side, staring at a television on the opposite wall, a muted hockey game that shows the Blackhawks losing 3-1. His gaze moves over to the movement at the door, less cloudy than it was the day before. But also more calculated, colder.

"Hey," she says softly, trying to smile, her lips suddenly difficult to rearrange. "Mind if I come in?"

His eyebrows shift upward a little, but his face shows no other expression. "Sure," he replies flatly.

She finally manages to turn her mouth up in a passable smile as she steps in, closing the door quietly behind her. Her heels click loudly as she walks over to the bed, pulling back a chair and sitting down. Will is back to looking at the television. "So… you seem … better? today?" Alicia asks, placing her hands on the old quilt that is now covering his lower body. She presses a stray thread back into the material.

"Compared to what?" Will sighs.

Alicia stares at him, the bruising visible beneath the collar of his modified t-shirt. She can see the back has been cut open, allowing the material to be removed from the front. "Well… when I was here yesterday, you seemed… a little out of it." She tries a smile, but is only met with mild surprise.

"You were here yesterday?" Will asks, turning his head to look at her. The bandage on his throat has been removed, showing a long gash that just barely missed his jugular. Alicia feels the smile slide right off her face, her fingers tightening on the aging material of the quilt.

"Y-yes… "

Will examines her for a long second, then offers a one-shoulder shrug. The movement makes him wince. "The doctor said I'll have short-term memory loss."

"But this was just yesterday," Alicia argues. "Do you remember yesterday?"

Will frowns, his eyes not leaving hers. "No." But then he hesitates, mouth open slightly. "I mean, I don't think… I think I was just dreaming…" His lips close and he doesn't say anything else. Alicia glances at the television, where the last seconds on the game are winding down. She doesn't want to push him, press all the issues and all their history so soon.

She pulls her hands off the quilt, folding them neatly on her purse, clutching it in her lap, as she looks back to Will. There are heavy bags under his eyes, heavier than usual, and even though his gaze is sharper, he still seems far away. The plastic electrodes are still stuck to his skin, the blue patches visible below his collarbones, but the wires connecting them are gone, his monitor silent. The IV drip is still inserted into his arm, administering pain medication.

"So… how are you feeling?" Alicia asks, breaking the silence as the Hawks lose the game. Will sighs at the television before grasping the remote by his good hand, switching it to CNBC. The male anchor looks sternly at the camera as blips of news feed pass on the bottom of the screen.

Will gives her an amused upturn of one corner of his mouth. "Like I've been shot."

She laughs at this, glad for the break in tension. "Where are Aubrey and Sara? I thought I'd have to sneak in here again to avoid the 20 Questions."

He doesn't look over. "They're gone."

Alicia raises her eyebrows. "Gone? What, you mean back to your apartment?"

"No, back to the east coast." He gives her a careful glance. "I'm not dead, Alicia. They have lives to get back to."

"But…" Her mind churns. "But they just-" She closes her mouth, knowing that he's keeping the whole story from her, and they sit in silence again for a while. Her phone buzzes in her purse, but she ignores it. Will ignores it - her - too, his eyes carefully trained on the television. Maybe she should leave, if he doesn't want her here. But she feels oddly rooted in her seat. He would have to make her leave. And he's in no condition to flip her chair like he tried to flip her desk.

"Alicia…" His voice sounds alarmed and she looks up in concern, away from where she had trained her gaze on the streetlights outside the window.

"What?" she asks quickly, checking out his torso, making sure nothing was bleeding or tearing, that his IV was still attached to his vein. But then she looks at his face, to where he's staring at the television. His thumb moves and he unmutes it. She hears the anchor say her own name.

"-in what will no doubt be a very messy divorce for the Governor and his family." The anchor looks so stern, she almost laughs at him as it cuts away to Peter, standing at a podium, the seal in front of him, and the flags behind him. He has on his best fake-concern expression, one she recognizes all too well. The camera catches a shot of Eli standing in the background, his lips pursed and eyes blinking as he keeps them on Peter, willing his speech to be finished.

"-have decided to divorce," Peter continues, looking out at the reporters. "A decision we have made amicably, and together, as we have made all our decisions over the past 18 years of our marriage. My family asks for your cooperation in giving us privacy during this time." It cuts back to the news anchor and Alicia swallows heavily, looking back at Will. He looks confused.

"You're getting a divorce?" he asks, turning his head slightly to look at her.

"Yes." Alicia straightens. "David and I served him the other day."

Will snorts, holding back a laugh that sends pain visibly through his left side. "Oh, shit," he inhales sharply, his hand dropping the remote as it comes up to hover over his ribcage. He exhales slowly through his teeth, his head dropping down. Alicia stands in alarm.

"Will! Should I get a nurse? I-" She takes a step toward the door, but pauses as he coughs, his torso spasming.

"No! No, don't…" He wheezes softly, still protecting his left side with his hand. "I'm fine, I swear…"

"Will!" she reprimands quietly, taking a step back and perching herself on the side of the bed. "I thought you were being given something for the pain!"

He sways forward a bit, steadying his breathing before glancing up at her. "It's self-administering," he admits after a second, looking guilty. "I've been trying to stretch out the doses…"

Alicia gawks at him. "Y-you're what?"

He gives her a pleading look, his eyebrows upturned. "It dulls me down-"

"That's what it's supposed to do," she sighs in frustration. "You're not going to heal any faster by depriving yourself of the medication." She reaches toward him, looking for the wired button that releases the meds through the IV. Her hair falls forward and she can smell the lingering scent of raspberry shampoo. She can see the stitches along his side where the modified t-shirt pulls away, can feel the heat from his live body, his wounded shoulder so close she could lean her face in and touch it. "Where is it, Will?" she asks softly, glancing around the side of the hospital bed.

"I'm not telling you," he chuckles. "It's only been 30 minutes overdue… I can go a little longer."

Alicia pulls back a few inches to examine him. "Promise me you'll release it soon, okay?" she asks, catching his gaze. His eyes flicker down to her mouth, then back up. "Okay?" she repeats, her voice barely audible.

"Okay," Will breathes, his good hand coming to her forearm, his fingers circling her elbow as he brings his palm down over the slender muscle. He gives her that sad look, the look she's seen him wear far too often, and far too often because of her. How is it fair of her to keep asking him to wait? It isn't fair.

But Will is alive.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, this time so he can hear it.

His sad eyes look at her, carefully examining the truthfulness in her face. "Are you?" he replies, voice so quiet she barely hears him, just sees the movement on his mouth.

She leans in and kisses him, lightly, yet as heavily as she dared. His lips don't move against hers, barely even touching. She fights the urge to open her eyes and pull away, instead pressing in harder and opening her mouth. He tastes familiar, even though it's been months since their last kiss, and when he finally responds, he feels familiar, the drag of his hooked nose against her cheek, the curve of his thin lips against her full ones, the flick of his tongue against her teeth. She shifts her weight, scooting closer to him on the narrow bed, his hand leaving her wrist to find the small of her back, guiding her into the crook of his hip.

A strangled groan comes from his chest and Alicia immediately pulls away. Her hand has come up to rest on Will's arm, too close to the ripped flesh of his shoulder. She lifts her hand up like his skin was burning her. "Oh! Will, are you-"

"Fine," he interrupts through clenched teeth, holding a hand up to stop her question as he works through the pain. She sits, frozen, until he looks up, something like amusement on his face.

"Did David Lee really serve Peter?" he asks.

Alicia stares at him, then laughs loudly. "Well, no, not him _personally_-"

"I'd kill to see the look on his face-"

"Sh." She presses her fingers against his mouth before he can finish the thought, then leans in conspiratorially. "Eli was with him when he was served. Maybe I can get him to talk."

"Yeah?" Will's lips turn up in a grin, his eyes drooping a little.

She smiles back, her heart growing in her chest. Her fingers close on the little plastic button that releases more medication and she presses it. The IV doesn't look any different but Will suddenly relaxes against his pillow. A light frown crosses the space between his eyebrows. "Did you…?" he says slowly.

"Yep." Alicia laughs lightly as his mouth opens when his muscles relax. "Besides, you need to get some sleep."

His eyes drift closed before reopening again. "Favour?" he asks sleepily.

"Sure." Alicia smiles as he struggles to stay awake.

"Cheeseburger." He closes his eyes again, but licks his lips. "Food sucks."

She rolls her eyes, leaning in and kissing his forehead. Her red lipstick leaves a mark on his skin. She thinks about wetting her thumb and wiping it off, but she doesn't.


End file.
